CHICKAMAUGA
One sunny autumn afternoon a child strayed away from its rude home in asmall field and entered a forest unobserved. It was happy in a new senseof freedom from control, happy in the opportunity of exploration andadventure; for this child's spirit, in bodies of its ancestors, had forthousands of years been trained to memorable feats of discovery andconquest--victories in battles whose critical moments were centuries,whose victors' camps were cities of hewn stone. From the cradle of itsrace it had conquered its way through two continents and passing a greatsea had penetrated a third, there to be born to war and dominion as aheritage.
The child was a boy aged about six years, the son of a poor planter. Inhis younger manhood the father had been a soldier, had fought againstnaked savages and followed the flag of his country into the capital of acivilized race to the far South. In the peaceful life of a planter thewarrior-fire survived; once kindled, it is never extinguished. The manloved military books and pictures and the boy had understood enough tomake himself a wooden sword, though even the eye of his father wouldhardly have known it for what it was. This weapon he now bore bravely,as became the son of an heroic race, and pausing now and again in thesunny space of the forest assumed, with some exaggeration, the posturesof aggression and defense that he had been taught by the engraver's art.Made reckless by the ease with which he overcame invisible foesattempting to stay his advance, he committed the common enough militaryerror of pushing the pursuit to a dangerous extreme, until he foundhimself upon the margin of a wide but shallow brook, whose rapid watersbarred his direct advance against the flying foe that had crossed withillogical ease. But the intrepid victor was not to be baffled; thespirit of the race which had passed the great sea burned unconquerablein that small breast and would not be denied. Finding a place where somebowlders in the bed of the stream lay but a step or a leap apart, hemade his way across and fell again upon the rear-guard of his imaginaryfoe, putting all to the sword.
Now that the battle had been won, prudence required that he withdraw tohis base of operations. Alas; like many a mightier conqueror, and likeone, the mightiest, he could not
curb the lust for war, Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest star.
Advancing from the bank of the creek he suddenly found himselfconfronted with a new and more formidable enemy: in the path that he wasfollowing, sat, bolt upright, with ears erect and paws suspended beforeit, a rabbit! With a startled cry the child turned and fled, he knew notin what direction, calling with inarticulate cries for his mother,weeping, stumbling, his tender skin cruelly torn by brambles, his littleheart beating hard with terror--breathless, blind with tears--lost inthe forest! Then, for more than an hour, he wandered with erring feetthrough the tangled undergrowth, till at last, overcome by fatigue, helay down in a narrow space between two rocks, within a few yards of thestream and still grasping his toy sword, no longer a weapon but acompanion, sobbed himself to sleep. The wood birds sang merrily abovehis head; the squirrels, whisking their bravery of tail, ran barkingfrom tree to tree, unconscious of the pity of it, and somewhere far awaywas a strange, muffled thunder, as if the partridges were drumming incelebration of nature's victory over the son of her immemorialenslavers. And back at the little plantation, where white men and blackwere hastily searching the fields and hedges in alarm, a mother's heartwas breaking for her missing child.
Hours passed, and then the little sleeper rose to his feet. The chill ofthe evening was in his limbs, the fear of the gloom in his heart. But hehad rested, and he no longer wept. With some blind instinct whichimpelled to action he struggled through the undergrowth about him andcame to a more open ground--on his right the brook, to the left agentle acclivity studded with infrequent trees; over all, the gatheringgloom of twilight. A thin, ghostly mist rose along the water. Itfrightened and repelled him; instead of recrossing, in the directionwhence he had come, he turned his back upon it, and went forward towardthe dark inclosing wood. Suddenly he saw before him a strange movingobject which he took to be some large animal--a dog, a pig--he could notname it; perhaps it was a bear. He had seen pictures of bears, but knewof nothing to their discredit and had vaguely wished to meet one. Butsomething in form or movement of this object--something in theawkwardness of its approach--told him that it was not a bear, andcuriosity was stayed by fear. He stood still and as it came slowly ongained courage every moment, for he saw that at least it had not thelong, menacing ears of the rabbit. Possibly his impressionable mind washalf conscious of something familiar in its shambling, awkward gait.Before it had approached near enough to resolve his doubts he saw thatit was followed by another and another. To right and to left were manymore; the whole open space about him was alive with them--all movingtoward the brook.
They were men. They crept upon their hands and knees. They used theirhands only, dragging their legs. They used their knees only, their armshanging idle at their sides. They strove to rise to their feet, but fellprone in the attempt. They did nothing naturally, and nothing alike,save only to advance foot by foot in the same direction. Singly, inpairs and in little groups, they came on through the gloom, some haltingnow and again while others crept slowly past them, then resuming theirmovement. They came by dozens and by hundreds; as far on either hand asone could see in the deepening gloom they extended and the black woodbehind them appeared to be inexhaustible. The very ground seemed inmotion toward the creek. Occasionally one who had paused did not againgo on, but lay motionless. He was dead. Some, pausing, made strangegestures with their hands, erected their arms and lowered them again,clasped their heads; spread their palms upward, as men are sometimesseen to do in public prayer.
Not all of this did the child note; it is what would have been noted byan elder observer; he saw little but that these were men, yet crept likebabes. Being men, they were not terrible, though unfamiliarly clad. Hemoved among them freely, going from one to another and peering intotheir faces with childish curiosity. All their faces were singularlywhite and many were streaked and gouted with red. Something in this--something too, perhaps, in their grotesque attitudes and movements--reminded him of the painted clown whom he had seen last summer in thecircus, and he laughed as he watched them. But on and ever on theycrept, these maimed and bleeding men, as heedless as he of the dramaticcontrast between his laughter and their own ghastly gravity. To him itwas a merry spectacle. He had seen his father's negroes creep upon theirhands and knees for his amusement--had ridden them so, "making believe"they were his horses. He now approached one of these crawling figuresfrom behind and with an agile movement mounted it astride. The man sankupon his breast, recovered, flung the small boy fiercely to the groundas an unbroken colt might have done, then turned upon him a face thatlacked a lower jaw--from the upper teeth to the throat was a great redgap fringed with hanging shreds of flesh and splinters of bone. Theunnatural prominence of nose, the absence of chin, the fierce eyes, gavethis man the appearance of a great bird of prey crimsoned in throat andbreast by the blood of its quarry. The man rose to his knees, the childto his feet. The man shook his fist at the child; the child, terrifiedat last, ran to a tree near by, got upon the farther side of it and tooka more serious view of the situation. And so the clumsy multitudedragged itself slowly and painfully along in hideous pantomime--movedforward down the slope like a swarm of great black beetles, with never asound of going--in silence profound, absolute.
Instead of darkening, the haunted landscape began to brighten. Throughthe belt of trees beyond the brook shone a strange red light, the trunksand branches of the trees making a black lacework against it. It struckthe creeping figures and gave them monstrous shadows, which caricaturedtheir movements on the lit grass. It fell upon their faces, touchingtheir whiteness with a ruddy tinge, accentuating the stains with whichso many of them were freaked and maculated. It sparkled on buttons andbits of metal in their clothing. Instinctively the child turned towardthe growing splendor and moved down the slope with his horriblecompanions; in a few moment
s had passed the foremost of the throng--notmuch of a feat, considering his advantages. He placed himself in thelead, his wooden sword still in hand, and solemnly directed the march,conforming his pace to theirs and occasionally turning as if to see thathis forces did not straggle. Surely such a leader never before had sucha following.
Scattered about upon the ground now slowly narrowing by the encroachmentof this awful march to water, were certain articles to which, in theleader's mind, were coupled no significant associations: an occasionalblanket, tightly rolled lengthwise, doubled and the ends bound togetherwith a string; a heavy knapsack here, and there a broken rifle--suchthings, in short, as are found in the rear of retreating troops, the"spoor" of men flying from their hunters. Everywhere near the creek,which here had a margin of lowland, the earth was trodden into mud bythe feet of men and horses. An observer of better experience in the useof his eyes would have noticed that these footprints pointed in bothdirections; the ground had been twice passed over--in advance and inretreat. A few hours before, these desperate, stricken men, with theirmore fortunate and now distant comrades, had penetrated the forest inthousands. Their successive battalions, breaking into swarms andre-forming in lines, had passed the child on every side--had almosttrodden on him as he slept. The rustle and murmur of their march had notawakened him. Almost within a stone's throw of where he lay they hadfought a battle; but all unheard by him were the roar of the musketry,the shock of the cannon, "the thunder of the captains and the shouting."He had slept through it all, grasping his little wooden sword withperhaps a tighter clutch in unconscious sympathy with his martialenvironment, but as heedless of the grandeur of the struggle as the deadwho had died to make the glory.
The fire beyond the belt of woods on the farther side of the creek,reflected to earth from the canopy of its own smoke, was now suffusingthe whole landscape. It transformed the sinuous line of mist to thevapor of gold. The water gleamed with dashes of red, and red, too, weremany of the stones protruding above the surface. But that was blood; theless desperately wounded had stained them in crossing. On them, too, thechild now crossed with eager steps; he was going to the fire. As hestood upon the farther bank he turned about to look at the companions ofhis march. The advance was arriving at the creek. The stronger hadalready drawn themselves to the brink and plunged their faces into theflood. Three or four who lay without motion appeared to have no heads.At this the child's eyes expanded with wonder; even his hospitableunderstanding could not accept a phenomenon implying such vitality asthat. After slaking their thirst these men had not had the strength toback away from the water, nor to keep their heads above it. They weredrowned. In rear of these, the open spaces of the forest showed theleader as many formless figures of his grim command as at first; but notnearly so many were in motion. He waved his cap for their encouragementand smilingly pointed with his weapon in the direction of the guidinglight--a pillar of fire to this strange exodus.
Confident of the fidelity of his forces, he now entered the belt ofwoods, passed through it easily in the red illumination, climbed afence, ran across a field, turning now and again to coquet with hisresponsive shadow, and so approached the blazing ruin of a dwelling.Desolation everywhere! In all the wide glare not a living thing wasvisible. He cared nothing for that; the spectacle pleased, and he dancedwith glee in imitation of the wavering flames. He ran about, collectingfuel, but every object that he found was too heavy for him to cast infrom the distance to which the heat limited his approach. In despair heflung in his sword--a surrender to the superior forces of nature. Hismilitary career was at an end.
Shifting his position, his eyes fell upon some outbuildings which had anoddly familiar appearance, as if he had dreamed of them. He stoodconsidering them with wonder, when suddenly the entire plantation, withits inclosing forest, seemed to turn as if upon a pivot. His littleworld swung half around; the points of the compass were reversed. Herecognized the blazing building as his own home!
For a moment he stood stupefied by the power of the revelation, then ranwith stumbling feet, making a half-circuit of the ruin. There,conspicuous in the light of the conflagration, lay the dead body of awoman--the white face turned upward, the hands thrown out and clutchedfull of grass, the clothing deranged, the long dark hair in tangles andfull of clotted blood. The greater part of the forehead was torn away,and from the jagged hole the brain protruded, overflowing the temple, afrothy mass of gray, crowned with clusters of crimson bubbles--the workof a shell.
The child moved his little hands, making wild, uncertain gestures. Heuttered a series of inarticulate and indescribable cries--somethingbetween the chattering of an ape and the gobbling of a turkey--astartling, soulless, unholy sound, the language of a devil. The childwas a deaf mute.
Then he stood motionless, with quivering lips, looking down upon thewreck.
The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce — Volume 2: In the Midst of Life: Tales of Soldiers and Civilians Page 3
